


Career Goals

by Sassy135



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28538265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassy135/pseuds/Sassy135
Summary: Richard knows he doesn't want a job sitting in an office, but he has trouble figuring out what job he does want.
Relationships: Mindy Hammond/Richard Hammond
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Career Goals

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from spending my Christmas readying Richard Hammond’s books on the Internet Archive and being amused at how many non-motoring related career aspirations he seems to have had.

He was 8. He was going to be an explorer when he grew up, he just knew it. He was crawling around the front garden and trying to find wildlife to draw in his notepad. Nick was holding his nature book looking bored, so Richard decided to take a break and suggested they play the name the car game. Nick refused as usual but Richard knew that was only because he always won. He might not be having much luck nature spotting but no one could identify cars from just a look like he could, drove his parents mad on long trips.

He was 14. He was going to be a photographer when he grew up. Might be a bit ambitious to try and be a nature photographer but any sort would do really. He’d spent days on end in the cupboard under the stairs as a makeshift darkroom and he had a Saturday job in a photo shop so maybe it would be possible. He took another photo of next door’s Morris marina and groaned internally. He was planning on doing his art project on a collage of different cars but all anyone had round here was British Leyland. He was hoping to get a couple of shots of land rovers but what he’d really love would be to get a photo of a Porsche. He walked to work, camera in hand, wondering if he could hitchhike to the nearest Porsche forecourt.

He was 17. He was going to be an artist. So what if he’d been kicked out of sixth form, he didn’t want to work in an office anyway. He sometimes felt stupid at home with his brothers both always getting top marks at school but so what. He didn’t care, he’d hated school anyway. Just 10 years of getting made fun of and hating maths and he’d had enough of that. Art school wasn’t going to be like that, he’d make sure of it. He just had to try to keep his mouth shut, he knew people found him annoying and he was useless at talking to new people so he’d just try and be the cool silent type. He’d painted a flag on top of his car just like the dukes of hazard and he’d get another motorbike as soon as he could save up the money. That was cool, that might make people like him.

He was 18. He was a radio DJ. Sort of. Well, he was an assistant to radio DJs and every so often they let him on air for a bit so that was something. He loved radio though, the live nature of it, the banter, the idle chat. He especially loved it when Zog Zielger, the Radio York motoring correspondent rang up. He could chat with Zog about cars all day and the good thing about being the assistant meant that after the actual radio spot was done with he could often continue the conversation about whatever car Zog had just reviewed. 

He was 20. He’d given up on radio, it wasn’t going to work and he couldn’t spend any more time sleeping in crappy bedsits just to read out the names of lambs needing adopting or spouting drivel in half hour slots when it came up. He was still only freelancing and obviously wasn’t good enough at that to get a real job. He was standing outside, ready to get on his motorbike to ride down to Canterbury University. If he could just make himself do it he’d be on his way to an architectural degree. This was it, his chance at an actual career, one in an office. He hesitated then turned around and walked back inside. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t spend the next seven years studying, he’d found it bad enough being at school the first time round. Anyway, he needed to fit the new engine onto Mel’s mini before she got back from holiday and realised he’d managed to break it. 

He was 22. He wasn’t going to do anything at all, he was useless at everything and would be on minimum wage - and probably all alone at this rate - for the rest of his life. His younger brothers were both at university now and heading towards careers in teaching and finance. He was a glorified delivery driver for an antique furniture company and had been trying to convince himself since he’d started that this was any kind of career at all. He still tried to do a bit of freelance radio on the side and played bass in a band but he had to face it - he had hobbies, none of this would lead anywhere. The only good thing was the company van. They’d given it to him brand new and he’d learned how to run in the engine and make sure it would run well for years to come. In fact, at the very least he could clean it now, that always made him feel a bit better.

He was 25. He’d managed to get a job doing PR for Renault, not sure how that one happened. It was great though, he was living near London and meeting people who seemed to like cars just as much as he did. He looked down the list of motoring journalists he needed to contact about the new Clio and saw the name Zog Ziegler. He’d forgotten how much fun they’d always had talking about cars back at Radio York and decided to give him a ring, see if he fancied a drink. Richard looked up a moment and saw saw Mindy from HR go outside for a fag break. He could call Zog in a minute, first he decided he was quite desperate for a smoke too.

He was 30. He was working a day a week presenting a few segments on Men and Motors and knew, practically speaking, this was a terrible mistake. Mindy was pregnant and there was no way they could survive on his current wages. They’d moved over to Cheltenham so at least her mum could help with some of the childcare, but Mindy didn’t want to go back to work after the baby and without her job their mortgage was going to be a problem. He didn’t even want to think about prams and baby clothes and toys. They weren’t even married yet although she’d already said yes. Another expense to think about. Maybe he should try and go back to PR. He’d been rubbish at it though, turned out a lot of it was admin and he was rubbish at admin. He’d spent half his time drawing cartoons and probably the only reason his boss had kept him on so long was that he found them quite funny. Not PR then but maybe something else. Even stocking shelves at Tesco might be more stable than this TV presenting lark. But this was the best job he’d ever had, he loved talking about cars and getting paid to do it was amazing.

He was 33. He and Mindy were standing in the corner of the backstage area, Mindy complaining her back hurt more being pregnant this time round and Richard holding Iittle Izzy. And trying to slow his heart rate down to a more reasonable rate before he passed out. He wondered how his life had turned out this way. All the twists and turns and he’d somehow ended up here, with a wife and two daughters (soon) and a job he’d never even conceived of as even existing. And here he was. Mindy touched his arm and he handed Izzy over to her. He kissed them both on the cheek and walked over to Andy and Jeremy, loitering near the stage entrance. ‘Alright?’, asked Jeremy. Richard wasn’t sure if he could talk just then so he nodded and took a deep breath before they both walked out onto the stage, ready to start the first recording of new Top Gear.


End file.
